14. Alexei
The tires barely stop rolling before my door opens. Petrova’s air hits me—dry, metallic, hot with fuel and dust—as I slide into the secure transport.
The door seals shut with a dull thud.
My phone rings.
I answer without looking at the screen.
“What did you find?” My voice cuts through the silence, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
Clara’s breath crackles over the line, faint but steady. “You were right to call someone like me when you did. You were also right about your worry for Elena,” she says again. “Your wife has a talent for finding trouble.”
My fingers tighten around the phone until its edges bite into my palm. “What happened?”
“Well,” she exhales, and I picture her pushing hair back, scanning the exits the way she always does. “The King was barking orders at every guard and cop in sight as soon as I managed to touch down here in Petrova. Queen Lizzie made it back safely to the palace.”
My chest tightens painfully.
“Without Elena?”
“Yes.”
The single word lands heavily. “Where is she?”
“They were downtown. Lizzie said she saw Wendell while they were shopping.”
My jaw clenches. “And now?”
“Lizzie said she left them at the store. They were waiting for the next transport.” Silence settles between us.
Too long. “I’m sorry, Lex. I tried to get here as quickly as I could.
” There is a pause at the end of her words—the preverbal “but” I know is coming.
“They should’ve been back by now,” she adds quietly.
“I knew she couldn’t sit around and wait,” I mutter. I cover the receiver before leaning forward. “Turn around,” I bark. “Downtown. Now.”
The driver doesn’t ask questions. The vehicle lurches into a hard turn.
I turn to Travis, who sits rigid beside me, exactly where I promised Elena I’d keep him. “Get Lance on the line.”
Travis’s phone is already in his hand, this thumb flying across the screen.
“There’s more,” Clara says, pulling my attention back to the call. “Max just flagged a report. Hannah was taken.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. The curses press against my teeth, clawing to get out.
I swallow them down.
“Your Majesty,” Travis interrupts, frustration edging his voice, “I can’t reach Lance.”
“I can be downtown in under ten minutes,” Clara offers. “It’s why you called… you know I have the resources your team doesn’t.”
“Get there.” I end the call and let the phone fall into my lap.
Travis glances at me. “Should I try again, sir?”
“Yes.” I scroll, stop at Braydon’s name, and hit call. “How much farther?” I ask.
“Minutes, Your Majesty,” Thompson answers from the front. His eyes flick to the mirrors before returning to the road.
The call connects one ring, just as I brace for voicemail.
“Sir?” Braydon’s voice comes through, ragged.
He’s running. I hear it in the ragged pull of his breathing.
“Give me the rundown.”
“They have her,” he answers. “Elena ordered me to go after them.”
My chest tightens. “Where are you?”
“Tunnels,” he rasps.
“I’ll be there in minutes.” I end the call as the vehicle slows.
Barricades come into view. Police swarm the street, voices overlapping, hands outstretched to hold back a restless crowd. Royal guards cut through the chaos, weapons low but ready. Too many people. Too much movement. Whatever happened here has already become impossible to contain.
“Your Majesty,” Thompson says as the vehicle eases to a stop, “I can’t go any farther.”
I’m already pushing the door open.
“Sir!” Travis’s boots hit the pavement behind me. “It’s not safe.”
I glance back. One look is all it takes.
Travis’s protest dies instantly. His gaze drops to the ground.
The pavement trembles beneath my foot.
A low rumble rolls beneath the street, followed by sharp, panicked screams, as the crowd surges. Officers shout. Someone goes down.
“What was that?” Travis asks, grabbing the roof of the car.
My gaze sweeps the square. My gaze locks on the fountain.
The water pressure has dropped noticeably, the streams sagging, splashing unevenly.
“It’s the tunnels,” I murmur.
Another tremor ripples beneath our feet.
“Sir?” Travis says.
I turn back toward him, the phone pressed to his ear. The color drains from his face. He swallows hard. “Lance,” he says, his voice breaking. “It’s the Queen.”
The ground stills.
Every instinct insisted I was already too late. I just wasn’t prepared for someone else to give voice to the fear I’d been trying to outrun.
“She’s gone.”